دخت افغان
Nadia Anjuman / نادیا انجمن| English translation #2 / ترجمه انگلیسی / Traduzione inglese / T... | |
| AFGHAN GIRL Have no motive to speak out What do I sing about that I'm hated by the times? Either I sing or not What can I say about night, that there is poison to my mouth? Fie to that cruel fist that has beat my mouth There is no sympathizer foe me in the world, so that I can flaunt Either I cry or laugh, either I die or stay I'm not that weak willow that I tremble with every wind I'm an Afghan girl and I'm right to be whining all the time Hoping for that great day that I break out from the cage And get rid of this seclusion, and sing happily Me and this corner of captivity, the sorrow of failure and regret that I'm born for no point, and my mouth must be locked My heart, I know that spring and the good times will come But what can I do as a poor bird that my wings are bound? Although I have been silent for a while, I won't forget how to sing Since I speak out of my heart whispering every once in a while I'm not that weak willow that I tremble with every wind I'm an Afghan Girl and I'm right to be whining all the time Hoping for that great day that I break out from the cage And get rid of this seclusion, and sing happily I'm not that weak willow that I tremble with every wind I'm an Afghan Girl and I'm right to be whining all the time Hoping for that great day that I break out from the cage And get rid of this seclusion, and sing happily | MAKES NO SENSE Music makes no sense anymore—why should I compose, I am abandoned by time whether I sing or am still. When words are poison to the tongue, why taste? Stifling songs is my abuser’s strongest skill. No one anywhere notices or cares whether I cry, whether I laugh, whether I die or am still here, in this captive’s cell with Grief and Remorse; why live, if my tongue is sealed, still. Slow down, heart that leaps to greet sweet spring, my broken wings will temper this temporary thrill. Though melodies drain from memory, stale with silence, songs waft up from soul-whispers still. One thought of the day I will break the cage makes me croon like a carefree drunk until they can see I am no wind-trembled willow tree— an Afghan woman wails and sings, and wail and sing I will! |
